"I am going to sleep," announced Sally, turning over hastily. "Does thee not think it time? We had a wearisome journey." Peggy giggled appreciatively. "That was a well directed shot," she remarked, "since it hath reduced the ranks to silence." CHAPTER XII "THEY MUST GO HOME" "It wounds, indeed, To bear affronts too great to be forgiven, And not have power to punish." --_"Spanish Friar," Dryden._ "Let them sleep, Hannah. I make no doubt but that they are greatly fatigued." "Yet methinks they would not care to be left behind if we go to the meeting-house, Mary. Both maidens have regard for the Sabbath. First-day, they call it." Peggy sat up quickly as the foregoing words penetrated her drowsed consciousness, and parting the curtains of the bed looked out. The door leading into the adjoining chamber was ajar, and through it the voices of the two women sounded distinctly. A flood of bright sunshine filled the little room with dazzling light, and she uttered an exclamation of dismay at the lateness of the hour. "Sally," she called, bending over her still sleeping friend and shaking her gently, "'tis time to get up. I fear me that we have over-slept." Sally stirred protestingly between the lavender-scented sheets, then opened her blue eyes sleepily. "Did mother call?" she murmured. "Oh, dear! I don't want to get up." "Thy wits are wool-gathering, Sally," laughed Peggy slipping from the high bed without touching the small flight of steps generally used for descending. "Thee is not at home, but in Freehold. We must dress with speed, for the friends wish to go to the meeting-house." "Heigh-ho!" yawned Sally rubbing her eyes. "Methought I was in Philadelphia, and here we are in---- Is it East or West Jersey, Peggy?" "Neither. 'Tis New Jersey, Sally." "But which would it be had they not gone together to make New Jersey?" persisted Sally. "It seems to me, miss, that for so sleepy a damsel thee is consumed with a great thirst for geographical knowledge," was Peggy's comment as she dipped her face in the washing bowl. "Does thee really know, Peggy Owen?" "I don't, Sally. Is thee pleased?" "Yes," declared Sally. "I thought of course thee would be informed, as thee has traveled so much. Peggy!" "Well?" "Did thee name the bedposts to find who would be thy fate? And at which one did thee look? Betty and I always do it when we sleep in a strange bed." "Yes, Sally. And I looked at this one." Peggy lightly touched the post nearest her. "Why, that's the very one I saw first," cried Sally excitedly. "For whom did thee name it, Peggy? What if it should be the same as mine! I called it--Fairfax." "Fairfax," came from Peggy at the same moment. A merry peal of laughter filled the chamber as they uttered the name in unison. "And how shall it be decided?" cried Sally gaily. "I shall never be second, Peggy." "What if Betty were here?" queried Peggy mirthfully.